Follow the River

No, you idiot, the tiny piece of rational brain tells me, you’re out of your mind right now is all.

“What the fuck did I just bump?” I manage to ask. Or, at least I think I ask it. It’s a question better asked before I took the hit, but better late than never, right?

But then, I must speak the words because Jaxson laughs at me. “It’s a special mix. Got a splash of MDMA in there. Makes for some phenomenal fucking once you get past the initial paranoia.”

Ecstasy?

My mind is racing at a million what-the-fucks per second.

I’ve done E before and I’ve done coke before. But never together.

And holy shit, I will never do them together ever again.

Ever, ever, ever.

Even in this bumped up state, I know I’m in for one helluva crash.

I watch transfixed as he pops the girl on the ass, motioning for her to get off his lap so he can rise to his feet. Extending his arm, he pulls me up and he’s really strong because I fly through the air but somehow still land upright.

“Why don’t we go grab you another drink at the bar to get you through this first bit of the high,” Jaxson says, his hand on my shoulder as he leads me back to the door. Glancing back, I see the little blonde following us. But more importantly, the table doesn’t seem to have Deacon’s lifeless body lying on it anymore.

So I’ve got that goin’ for me at the very least.

“Kayleigh here can help you get what you’re looking for once you’ve got your drink,” Jax continues, oblivious to my internal ramblings that’d earn me a one way ticket to a psych ward.

Help me get what I’m looking for? Fuck dude, all I’m looking for is a way to get home. I gotta go take my stomach out of the oven. Or was it off the stove..?

But then the girl…Kayla, was it? Or Kylie?

What’s-her-fucking-name gives me a look. It says hi, I’m down to fuck in the bathroom of this club and never see you again.

Well, what do you know Kandy, I’m down to be the one fucking you in said bathroom.

I smirk down at the blonde, finally starting to feel the ease of the high slide over me. The paranoia, the anxiety, it’s long gone and I’m exactly what I want to be.

Free.

At least for the whole ten seconds it takes to get to the bar on the second level. Because at the end of it, I see him.

A piece of my past, but this one isn’t dead. No, he’s very much alive. At least, according to his twin sister, he is. Neither of us have heard much from him for a while.

Well, maybe if you didn’t ruin your fucking friendship with the guy the night before he left for college…

Blinking rapidly, I try to focus. To see if it’s really him. I know he moved out to this area for school, so the possibility is high. The coincidence would be fucking insane, but it’s possible…

And when a set of dark hazel eyes meet mine, I know it’s him.

“Let’s get you that drink,” blondie purrs, her fingers plucking at my shirt over my pecs. Her movement causes me to snap my attention back to her. It’s only for a second, but when I look back up to meet his gaze again…he’s gone.

Vanished into thin fucking air.

Holy fucking shit, I’m higher than the fucking Empire State Building right now.

Little blondie taps on my chest again, bringing my stare back to her. Looking down at her this close, I realize she is pretty. Pouty pink lips and huge icy blue eyes that scream come fuck me. And I'm certain they work well for her when it comes to that request.

Yet even in my coked up, drunken mind, I know fucking her is a bad idea. Try a fucking terrible idea.

But it doesn’t mean I’m going to walk out of here without getting laid. I can’t go back to that damn hotel room still hard up and have to sleep in a bed next to River fucking Le

Nope, I’m going to continue down the self-destructive path I’m paving for myself right now because fuck River Le

Fuck. It. All.

“Why don’t we find somewhere more…private,” the girl says in voice meant to be sultry, but it’s fucking loud in here so I can barely hear the words. Still, I nod in agreement and she takes my hand to lead me back down the hallway we came from, stopping outside the men’s room.

I push open the door, and she’s on me like a fucking suction cup.

Yeah, I know that doesn’t make sense but she has literally suction cupped her mouth to my throat like one of those creepy sucker fish that attaches itself to the sides of fish tanks.

Shit, now I’m thinking about water and I’m thirsty again. I can’t seem to remember…did I get another drink at the bar?

I guess it doesn’t matter because Lady Dracula is currently leaving the world’s biggest hickey on my neck and I’m getting seriously fucking a

But that all changes the second she starts rubbing up against me and my cock starts taking notice.

He never notices much if I’m being honest, but this little twitch is a good fucking sign.

What can I say, he’s a lot more picky than I am.

Not wasting any time, she cups me over my jeans, rubbing against my length with her palm and the heel of her hand. And it feels really fucking good.

Atta boy, I praise my dick, being grateful he’s going along with the game plan tonight. Namely, fucking a random chick so I get some fucking relief and an escape from reality, if only for the short time I’m buried balls deep inside her.

My eyes slide closed while she works my jeans open, slipping her dainty hand into my briefs to pull out my cock. It’s currently in half-chub form, but that’s only because it was being ground up against by another body. In all honesty, a goddamn monkey could get my dick in half-chub territory, and I’m not into fucking bestiality.

What the fuck are you even thinking right now…? Bestiality, Rain? Really?

Her warm fingers wrap around my girth, giving it a few quick tugs, but it doesn’t do shit for me. I groan in frustration, wishing for once I was fucking normal because the shit she is doing doesn’t work for me. It never fucking does.

That might be the most infuriating part of having sex as my preferred vice at this point in my life. I never am attracted to the girl the way I should be.

She could be the hottest woman on the planet, and she won’t do anything for me down south. Not really.

Regardless of who she is or what she looks like, her hand is always too small, too smooth. Making me wish it was my own instead. And when her lips wrap around my length, the texture of her chapstick or lipstick or lipgloss or whatthefuckever is always too sticky on my length.

It doesn’t belong there.

And don’t get me started on pussy. It’s always too soft, too warm, too fucking…pink. I’d much rather fuck a girl in the ass, but most one night stands aren’t down for back door play, so I’ve learned to take what I’m able to get.

All of this put together and adding in that I’m usually not sexually attracted to women and...yeah, I’m fucking convinced

I’m asexual.

It makes the most sense to me. It’s what I have to be.

There’s no other explanation for why I’d rather have my own fist wrapped around my cock, the hard, calloused skin stroking me to my own release, rather than be with a girl. Having to think of that kind of grip on me to even get it up for a girl.